


Come Little Children

by bendingwind



Series: Allaythings, or: dark!Doctor/Amy verse because Allay [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Brainwashing, F/M, Grooming, Rape/Non-con References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-27
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 05:25:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/304234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingwind/pseuds/bendingwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'll take thee away / into a land of enchantment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Little Children

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadow243ali](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=shadow243ali).



Come Little Children  
I'll Take Thee Away, Into A Land  
Of Enchantment

She stares up at him with eyes so full of trust that he wants to pull her into his arms, to press her into himself, to steal a part of that innocence. Such a little thing, and so alone; and somehow, still, so full of hope. Brilliant Amelia Pond, like a name in a fairytale, a girl to belong in his world. A girl to belong to him.

He wants to be a good man, so terribly badly. And when the bells ring, he makes the only choice that might lessen his crime; he runs away, as he always runs away.

Come Little Children  
The Time's Come To Play  
Here In My Garden  
Of Magic

He comes back, as he always knew he would, and she is perfect. Perfect Amelia Pond, perfectly himself, perfectly all the things he wants. Mad and beautiful and so very alone that she’s given up her own name. His creation. _His._

This time, he gives her just a taste of true fairytale. Life and death and blood rushing through her veins, and flashing brilliant hair like the setting sun.

Just a taste, to leave her wanting more. Amy Pond, more alone than ever, once her raggedy sad man takes off for the stars.

Follow Sweet Children  
I'll Show Thee The Way  
Through All The Pain And  
The Sorrows

He steals her away before the world can steal her from him. Marriage and children and the day-to-day do not belong in the life of a mad brilliant girl from a fairytale. So he brings her into his bigger-on-the-inside mad blue box, and he shows her the world as it _is._ Not the simple or the boring, but the dangerous, deadly world outside, because only among horrors can you find true beauty.

_Her hair and her eyes and her pale, translucent skin shine in those places like the moon in a night sky, and he can hardly rip his eyes away._

_He makes her live through the sorrow of death and briefly wonders, _how could a good man let someone die just to change a girl,_ and then he watches the horror fade from her eyes and settle in the back of her brain. Happy Amelia Pond, faithful Amelia Pond, who understands loss and death and sorrow and doesn’t quite understand why._

Weep Not Poor Children  
For Life Is This Way  
Murdering Beauty And  
Passions

Sometimes he watches her sleep, watches the pale blue veins pulsate under that pale, pale skin, and marvels at the way her hair seems almost to burn as it cradles her face. His Amelia, his fairytale, his perfect, perfect story, written by time and loss and sorrow and loneliness. And still, she smiles at him and he can almost smile back. They dash across the universe, and he feels like he could run with her for eternity.

She catches an incurable virus and she dies.

He burns a planet to the ground, all death and blood and ashes and sweat, and when they visit the ruins of Megor Nikella, she asks what happens. _No one knows,_ he says with a smile and a shrug. She never catches so much as a cold.

Hush Now Dear Children  
It Must Be This Way  
To Weary Of Life And  
Deceptions

When she kisses him, the proximity is nearly too much. It rushes over him, the mad desire to own her, to become her, to make her a part of him. To sink his fingers into flesh and feel her warm blood as he pulls her into him, as close as two beings can become and closer still, two perfectly lonely and perfectly heartbroken people.

He manages with a harsh grip and a kiss that is as much teeth and heat as lips and tongue and caress. He rips her clothes from that lovely lithe body and buries himself in her, and she gasps and groans, perhaps as much with pain as desire. He finds that he does not care which it might be, as he thrusts into her, hard as he can. Perhaps space or time or reality will bend and they will blend together, one soul, one body.

When he comes, it’s almost as if he’s gotten his wish.

Rest Now My Children  
For Soon We'll Away  
into The Calm And  
The Quiet

And the next morning, it’s as if it never happened. She looks in his eyes with that coy little smile and teases him about not really wanting anything quite so long-term. She’s ordinary and happy and she, he realizes, has gotten what she wanted. A very good lay. She might come to him again, if she’s in the mood, but she doesn’t see what they are or should be or could be to each other. She doesn’t see that they share the same loneliness, the way he knows he does. She doesn’t want to belong to him, in him, and he _needs_ her to.

She has to sleep, eventually. She lies in her bed and her fiery hair floats around her like the Lady of Shalot, like Ophelia gone to drown, cold and lost and silent.

He brushes the hair from her face and pauses at her temple, and, briefly, closes his eyes.

When she wakes in the morning, it is in his bed, her naked body entwined around his own. She smiles sleepily through heavy-lidded eyes and whispers, _Good morning, my love._

Come Little Children  
I'll Take Thee Away, Into A Land  
Of Enchantment

She sees the world at his side, his flame-haired love. Rose Red, the Morrigan, he changes her a little more each day so that she is more of what she was; more fierce, more bright, and more alone.

Sometimes she dances for him in the firelight of a dying world, and he watches, mesmerized by the flashing bracelets and shining hair and smooth expanses of skin. Sometimes he joins her, that primal dance that began before life ever left the oceans, and he glories in the feeling of being, for an instant in all of time and space, one with someone else. Someone as much a fairytale, a myth, as mad as he.

She is perfect, because he made her to be.

Come Little Children  
The Time's Come To Play  
Here In My Garden  
Of Shadows


End file.
